Luke

Finally… after that long day at university, Luke shuffles across the parking lot and heads to his motorcycle. The engine purrs beneath his hands, a familiar vibration that gently brings him back to himself. Arriving at the house, Luke parks on the side of the road without even thinking, a gesture that has become a ritual. He takes the steps two at a time, his heart a little lighter: this precise moment, the moment he leaves the outside world behind the door, is the one he always waits for.

Once inside, Luke sheds his clothes, letting them fall to the floor, as if each piece carried away a fragment of his weariness. In the shower, the hot water glides down his neck, loosening his stiff muscles and erasing the day's drone: the classes, the voices, the commotion. Steam rises and fills the bathroom, creating a cocoon where nothing exists but the steady sound of the water and his own quiet breathing.

When he gets out, the towel still around his waist, he collapses onto his bed. The cool sheets cling lightly to his skin, warmed by the shower. Luke reaches for his phone, more out of habit than genuine desire. The screen lights up immediately: a flurry of likes, comments, DMs. Some girls comment on his photos, others send him messages that quickly become bold, almost scripted, as if they were writing a chapter of a Dark Romance where the bikers are all tall, dark, mysterious men with brooding eyes and sculpted physiques.

Luke doesn't look like them. He's tall, yes, but his short blond hair isn't enigmatic at all, and his heterochromatic eyes—that strange mosaic of blue, green, and gray—made me feel more self-conscious than anything else. Even though he poses shirtless on his motorcycle, even though confidence oozes from his photos, he's never considered himself particularly attractive.